


Punished by the HOA

by cynki_rosha



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Blood Kink, Bondage, Cutting, F/F, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Impact Play, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, Masochism, Sadism, Verbal Humiliation, f+/f, she's just kidnapped and then assaulted really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28011699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynki_rosha/pseuds/cynki_rosha
Summary: Shae moves into a new neighborhood well-known for punishing those who violate the HOA. Shae is eager to find out how harshly she'll be punished.
Kudos: 11





	Punished by the HOA

I woke with a start. My head was spinning, making it hard to see where I was, because I was definitely not back at my beautiful home with my beautiful husband. It took a couple of blinks, but everything slowly started to shift into focus. My heart pounded as I realized where I was and what I was doing there.

I was tied up in a dark room. I yanked at my arms and legs, but they were secured tightly to the chair that I was sitting on, wrapped up in broad strips of packing tape that tugged at my skin whenever I moved. The tape wrinkled and I felt it threatening to bunch up and turn into slim, painful strips that would dig into my skin if I moved any more. 

There was also a broad expanse of tape across my upper chest, over top of my flannel pajama shirt, right above my breasts. It wasn't quite enough to make it hard to breathe, but it definitely didn't make it any easier. It was attached to the back of the chair, which I could only assume was a fancy dining room chair, given the cushion underneath me. There was a crick in my neck from where my head had been slumped over when I was unconscious.

My mouth grew dry. The only thing I remembered from the night before was being at home with my husband and children. I vaguely remembered having a headache, so I took some migraine medication, but that tended to turn me a little cross-eyed, and then I tried to get to sleep, and then I wasn't sleeping, so I took some sleeping pills...

And that's when they came.

I shook my head, trying to get the rest of the fuzzies out. I wanted to remember every second of this moment. It was written down there, a whisper of a punishment, at the end of the paperwork. I'm guessing they assumed that no one would read that part. I had.

"Anyone found in violation of these rules shall be severely punished. The correction of any deviant behavior will be achieved by any means necessary, and by any force deemed reasonable."

I had no idea what reasonable force was, but I was all too eager to find out.

I looked around the room, which was finally starting to come into sharp enough focus. It was someone's basement, and it seemed strangely familiar. It was empty, with a dull beige carpet covering the floor. There was a glass door on the wall behind me that led out onto a back patio, but the door was covered with curtains that let no light in. It was still the middle of the night, I figured. 

It hit me suddenly. I was in Lucinda's basement. I’d gone to her parties before. There was almost no furniture down here because the space was left open for people to gather and mingle. She put the food table over there in the corner. The door to her husband's office was on the other side of the room. Now that I had a point of reference, I recognized the pattern of the back of the chair as one of her dining room chairs, the ones with arms that my wrists were now firmly affixed to.

What on earth was I doing taped to one of Lucinda's dining room chairs while in her basement? I took a deep breath, staunching the flood of fear and anticipation. As eager as I was, I was still on the verge of freaking out. I didn't want to freak out. I was here because I wanted to know. I needed to keep that edge down so I could learn what was going to happen to me.

"Hello?" I called out. "Is someone there?" My voice felt flat in the empty basement, absorbed by the boring beige carpet. Someone took me from my bed, carried me all the way down the street to Lucinda's house, and tied me up in her basement? That was some level of coordination I wasn't expecting. Everything was more extreme than I had anticipated, more intense than I could have wished for. My husband definitely would have never been able to set up something like this for me, his poor, needy wife who desperately needed to be punished.

My family had recently moved to the neighborhood, a neighborhood that I had carefully picked because of the rumors that I had heard slinking about. Ostensibly, dark things happened here. I was pleased to learn that they weren't just rumors, and they didn't just have a shred of truth, they had a whole enchilada of truth.

Lucinda was the first person to greet us with home-baked cookies and a great big smile. She was always incredibly welcoming and accommodating to us, inviting us over to parties and helping us to get to know the neighborhood. She had made me feel at home. Our kids played together, our husbands watched football together. It was so deceiving, and made me think that they were actually normal here.

But no. Something super weird was going on here, and I was stuck right in the middle of it.

"Hello?" I yelled out again, louder this time. "Hello!" I tried to lean forward on the chair to lift the back legs off the ground, but with my legs and feet secured the way they were, I wasn't able to. Not that the chair would make a lot of noise anyways; I was on soft carpet. Plus, the more I moved to try to get anywhere, the more the tape crumpled together and got tighter and thinner. I had to stop or else it would start to bunch into narrow strips and cut into me. Maybe the punishment was just being tied to a chair all night. I stifled a moan. Something as simple as that would be enough for me, I knew. I was so desperate. A bead of hot sweat rolled down my neck and was absorbed into my flannel pajamas. I took a couple of deep breaths to try to calm myself down.

I jumped when I heard footsteps upstairs. "Hey!" I screamed. Who was it? Lucinda? Her husband? Maybe one of her friends? The mystery was agonizing.

The footsteps sounded weird, and I had an image of someone in high heels walking across Lucinda's wooden kitchen floor. More than one someone. Several someones in high heels were walking around. Then the footsteps were muffled--the hall carpet--all the way down towards the basement door.

My breath hitched and my stomach boiled in fear and anticipation. 

Light cascaded down the staircase as the door opened, and footsteps descended the stairs, high heels, all syncing together in some kind of rhythmic horror. It felt like the strip of tape across my shoulders was crushing my lungs.

My heart raced and the roaring in my ears subsided when I saw who it was that came down the stairs.

"Lucinda," I said weakly. I let out an anxious laugh. She looked as prim and proper as she did when she brought my family cookies when we just moved in. I couldn’t imagine the depths that such a woman could descend to.

Lucinda had come down the stairs, accompanied by three other neighborhood mothers: Emily, Margaret, and Bridget. Oh my god, there were so many here. Were they all involved in this? The whole neighborhood? Were they all just eagerly waiting for me to be punished for my transgressions? 

My breath hitched, unable to keep steady. They were all here to show me what I deserved.

The four of them stood in front of me, motionless, watching. I squirmed in my chair.

"Hey, hi," I said, glancing between them. The silence was killing me. They were dressed up nicely, with cocktail dresses and heels, their hair up in carefully perfected updos, with glitterings of fancy jewelry and a sparkle of subtle makeup. Maybe they were having some kind of late night fancy dinner party. I felt a little envious, a little disgusted with myself. I was wearing gross pajamas and they were all so beautiful.

They continued to stare at me. It was getting incredibly unsettling and painful. I didn't want them looking at me, seeing how hideous I was without my makeup and a good hair style. Emily was holding onto a wooden cooking spoon for some inexplicable reason. Margaret had a large bristle boar brush, which was broad and flat on the backside. Bridget wasn't carrying anything, but was tapping her long, newly manicured acrylic nails on her belt in a maddening rhythm.

And that's when I noticed what Lucinda was carrying. It glinted in the faint light that streamed downstairs from the open basement door: a short and slender boning knife. She held it down by her side, where it was almost completely hidden in the folds of her skirt.

"Please," I asked weakly. My voice trembled. I needed them to do something. Their staring was agonizing. I could feel their eyes on every disgusting inch of my body.

"Good evening, Shae," Lucinda said. She twisted the knife slightly, making it shine.

"Lucinda," I said breathlessly.

"We noticed you weren't following the rules," Emily said. I moaned softly. She was stroking the handle of the spoon menacingly.

"The rules," I echoed.

"Rule-breakers need to be punished," Margaret continued. Her grip on the brush left her white-knuckled.

"We have no tolerance for those who break the rules," Bridget ended. She had stopped drumming her fingernails on her belt.

My head spun.

Lucinda stepped in front of me and bent over, her hands on her knees. "My dear," she said. My eyes locked onto the knife that she still held, which was out in the open now. "Eyes up here." She grabbed my chin and yanked it up. I stared deep into her hazel eyes, feeling deeply uncomfortable doing so but unable to look away. "You've been looking forward to this, haven't you?" A flare of electricity gathered in my stomach, and shame spread out and filled every inch of my being. "You broke the rules on purpose, didn't you?"

I shook and nodded, unable to speak.

"The toys in the front yard," Emily said. I jumped. The kids had left the toys in the front yard, and I didn’t tell them to clean up.

"The unraked lawn," Margaret said. My lawn was an absolute, hideous mess, and I had done nothing about it.

"The grass over three inches tall," Bridget said. My husband had twisted his ankle last month and I made no effort to pick up the slack.

"We've sent you notifications about these," Lucinda said. "But you didn't care, did you. You never would have fixed them. You would have let them be, until you got what you needed."

I licked my lips. "I'll never fix it," I said, my voice breathless and quiet.

"Then we'll have to keep on punishing you."

"Please." I was so pathetic I had resorted to begging.

Lucinda smirked. "Then now's the time for punishment."

"Now's the time for punishment," the three other women said at the same time. Their voices overlapped and mingled and echoed, as if they were speaking with one voice. A cold stab of terror leached into my stomach.

Lucinda grabbed the bottom of my pajama shirt. I shrieked. She cut a smooth line up through the center of my shirt. The knife sliced through the threads like hot butter, whispering against my skin. I panted and threw my head back as she reached the top of the revealed shirt, just right below the tape.

"Please," I said, my voice strained. My shirt fell open, revealing a little slip of skin. "Please..." She cut across to my right, then down again, cutting away a large square that used to hide the right side of my body. She stepped back. The right side of my torso was now painfully exposed. My nipple immediately puckered up against the cool basement air. I let out an uncontrolled moan.

"You're being too loud," Lucinda said. She balled up the fabric and shoved it into my mouth. I moaned through the fabric, my voice so muffled I could barely hear myself. My tongue pressed against the fabric, and it immediately absorbed any moisture that I had left in my mouth. My breath came in ragged gasps as it became more difficult to fill my lungs with air through the flannel.

Lucinda cut out a panel on the other side, tossed that square of fabric away, and stepped back. Now I was completely naked from the chest down, completely exposed to four impeccably dressed women. I tried to hunch my shoulders forward to hide myself, but the tape kept me sitting straight up. Instead I looked away over my shoulder, unable to handle the passive, calculating stares that told me how disgusting I was.

"Her tits are massive," Emily said.

"Such a fucking slut," Margaret said.

"She's so hideous," Bridget said.

I whimpered. I thought they were my friends, that they liked me, that they enjoyed me, and every word they said pierced down inside me. They vibrated through my body.

Emily stepped forward. She was smacking the wooden spoon into her palm. "This is for the toys you left in the yard," she said and raised the spoon. I looked up at her, eyes wide.

It came down with a hard slap on my right breast. I bellowed as searing pain shot through me. I tried to stomp my feet on the floor, giving myself any sort of relief, but my legs were held tight by the tape. My breasts swayed as I rocked back and forth on the chair. I was suddenly aware of every movement in my torso, every brush of skin against skin. The stinging sensation filled my gut and made my panties wet.

Emily lifted up the spoon again. I stared up at her, my eyes wide and watering. I tried to talk through the flannel, useless whimpers, maybe I was even begging her to stop, or maybe I was begging her to keep going, but it all came out a muffled mess.

The next strike landed on my other breast. I threw my head back and howled. The sound came through the back of my throat in a bright sharp note that pierced through the flannel.

"Quiet," Lucinda said. She grabbed my chin and slapped me hard across the face. I saw stars blinking in front of me. A gross warm feeling churned in my stomach. I wanted her to do it again.

Emily grabbed one of my nipples hard between her fingernails. A jolt of arousal shot through me, followed by a wave of shame. I couldn't believe that I was getting turned on like this. What kind of messed up person got turned on by something like this? Emily wasn't even grabbing it to be titillating, she was using it as a handle to lift my breast up. Then she smacked the sensitive underside of my heavy breast. I jerked away, accidentally rubbing the junction between my legs against the chair cushion in the process. I let out a startled, drunken moan.

"Nasty slut," Emily said. She grabbed my other nipple, lifting it up. I let out another shriek when she got me again. Lucinda stepped forward and slapped me again for the noise, sending my head sideways. My blocked breath came in ragged gasps and I tried to breathe through my nose. Tears were starting to spill from the corners of my eyes.

Emily started hitting me harder and harder, mostly aiming for my nipples. Every blow on my nipples sent jolts through my stomach. My nipples were rock hard, which made every impact that Emily landed on me that much more sensitive and painful.

A little yelp escaped my throat with each strike as I struggled to keep myself quiet so Lucinda didn't slap me again. It was getting harder to breathe as the flannel in my mouth was soft and sodden with spit and drool. Inhaling through my nose was nearly impossible as it got clogged with tears from the pain. It felt like I was choking, even drowning. And I needed more.

Within the last few strikes, the pain had numbed to a dull throb. My nipples burned and the spot between my legs was heavy and swollen. The attention on my nipples was driving me mad. I had never experienced anything like this before, I had never been hurt before, and the intensity of it was getting me worked up in a way that I almost didn't want to believe. I didn't realize how much I had wanted this, how much I had needed this. I was scared of myself, ashamed of myself, and deeply aroused, all at the same time.

Emily ended her attack with a few last strikes, holding her arm up high and swinging down fast enough that the spoon whistled as it moved through the air. I couldn't keep my scream in for the last one, and Lucinda hit me again, snapping, "Quiet!" I loved it.

Emily backed up, holding the spoon in her off hand and rotating her wrist. I sobbed and looked down at my bruised chest. There were blossoms of tiny red spots across my skin that prickled and burned, along with several deep purple marks, which would doubtlessly spread over the next few days. The longer I sat there in silence, the deeper and more intense the pain felt. The stream of tears slowed and dried on my cheeks.

Margaret stepped forward, holding the broad brush. My head jerked up as she approached, and that scathing anticipation filled me again. They weren't done. Of course they weren't done.

I whimpered through the flannel gag.

"This is for the leaves you didn't rake," Margaret said. She grabbed my left breast roughly, making me whimper, and struck it with the brush.

It felt like being hit with a train. The brush hit deeper than the stingy spoon, and traveled rapidly and mercilessly through the bruises and damaged tissue, straight to my chest cavity. The wind was knocked out of me.

Margaret moved on to the other one, striking it hard. The surface of the brush almost covered the entirety of my breast, forcing as much pain as possible into my skin. It stung and burned, making my body jump and my cunt convulse. I was getting so incredibly turned on by this, the tension so intense it was driving me mad.

Margaret switched back and forth between my breasts, building up an intense rhythm that I couldn't help but get fixated on, tensing up every single time she swapped between them, feeling her fingers dig into my flesh to hold each one up, and then land the back of the brush down on my heavily bruised skin. My head was buzzing, and I felt drunk, leaning into it, drool making its way through the gag and down my chin. Everything was incoherent and tingly. Everything turned into a blur.

I noticed when Margaret stopped the rhythm, and I focused on her just in time to see her flip the brush over and smash the rough bristles into my sensitive and painful skin. Each hair felt like a needle piercing my breasts and leaving behind prickling, sizzling pain. I let out a deep guttural moan that left me breathless. She dragged the bristles across my tortured skin and I panted uselessly. Long thin red lines crossed back and forth over my skin.

Margaret stepped back to admire her handiwork, and I stared up at her groggily. She finished off her session by slamming the flat side of the brush into my stomach like it was a baseball bat. It knocked the wind out of me and I would have collapsed forward, but the tape kept me upright. I was a mess: clothes shredded, breasts destroyed, hair wild, with tears silently rolling down my cheeks and what was probably a wild look in my eyes. I rubbed my thighs together the best I could. I was inflamed.

Margaret took a few steps back, threading her hand through the loop on the end of the brush and letting it hang down at her side, as casually as if she hadn't just beat someone up with it.

There was a long and quiet pause. In the silence I couldn't help but cry again, big compulsive sobs that shook my body as I stared down at my ruined breasts. They looked beautiful and lovely, the way that they were supposed to look. All I heard was the ringing in my ears. My throat was sore and raw from screaming. My chest throbbed.

Soon, even I grew quiet and warm.

Bridget stepped forward. I looked up at her. All my energy was gone, but the lust and desire was still there. I don't think I could have yelled any more even if they were gonna kill me. I couldn't really focus on her, but I could tell enough that Bridget wasn't carrying anything. She drew back, and I couldn't figure out what was happening fast enough before Bridget she slashed her acrylic nails across my nipple.

I reacted only with stunned silence, shock racing through me. Bridget slashed at my other nipple, as if she was going to tear it off. Every lancet of such sharp, searing pain chased the thoughts out of my head. I felt dizzy and brainless, my mind empty except for the pain and the heat.

Bridget slashed again and again, leaving shallow scrapes along my tender breasts, scratches that soon welled up with tiny beads of blood. As Bridget attacked me, the blood smeared across my skin, followed by sharp piercing pain. She dug her fingertips and her fingernails into my flesh, leaving deep gouges in my skin. I unconsciously arched my back into her hands, like I was asking her to go harder, and she did. She squeezed and twisted my breasts, sending me spiraling higher, she dug her nails in, pulling up layers of skin that blistered and turned pink in the aftermath.

Tension boiled in every inch of my body, and every abuse against me made it more intense. Bridget paused for a moment, then grabbed my nipples with her fingernails and twisted and yanked them away from my body.

I couldn't handle any more. The tension exploded and I came hard, so hard I felt like I was going to throw up. Every inch of my flesh crackled with intensity. It wasn’t pleasure, but something deeper and far more raw than I had ever felt in my life. It was a convulsive, overwhelming release. I dry heaved against the gag, my bruised stomach seizing up, trying to force more out of me, trying to empty me.

Bridget slapped the tops of my breasts several more times, aiming for the crosses of scratches along my skin, but I couldn't feel any of it. I was still numb and tingling from the aftereffects of my orgasm. I never imagined that anything could feel so intense and overwhelming in my life.

I sat motionless in the chair. I took a few deep and shaky breaths. My breasts trembled as I shook. My flailing against the tape that bound me had bunched it together until it was just a few thin strips digging into my wrists and ankles.

"I think she gets the picture, ladies," Lucinda said. "Just a little hint of the punishment she'd get if she decides to keep acting up." She knelt in front of me, the knife glinting in her hand. She grabbed one breast and roughly held it aside, twisting as she did so. I let out a helpless groan. She held up the knife and pressed it against my skin. "She needs one last reminder of who really owns her."

Lucinda carved into my chest with the boning knife. The cuts immediately started to bleed, dripping down my chest and across my stomach in long red ribbons. She carved just three inch-high letters into my flesh:

H O A


End file.
